To the Countesse of Bedford

Reason is our Soules left hand, Faith her right,By these wee reach divinity, that's you;Their loves, who have the blessings of your light,Grew from their reason, mine from faire faith grew.

But as, although a squint lefthandednesseBe'ungracious, yet we cannot want that hand,So would I, not to encrease, but to expresseMy faith, as I beleeve, so understand.

Therefore I study you first in your Saints,Those friends, whom your election glorifies,Then in your deeds, accesses, and restraints,And what you reade, and what your selfe devize.

But soone, the reasons why you'are lov'd by all,Grow infinite, and so passe reasons reach,Then backe againe to'implicite faith I fall,And rest on what the Catholique voice doth teach;

That you are good: and not one HeretiqueDenies it: if he did, yet you are so.For, rockes, which high top'd and deep rooted sticke,Waves wash, not undermine, nor overthrow.

In every thing there naturally growesA Balsamum to keepe it fresh, and new,If'twere not injur'd by extrinsique blowes;Your birth and beauty are this Balme in you.

But you of learning and religion,And vertue,'and such ingredients, have madeA methridate, whose operationKeepes off, or cures what can be done or said.

Yet, this is not your physicke, but your food,A dyet fit for you; for you are hereThe first good Angell, since the worlds frame stood,That ever did in womans shape appeare.

Since you are then Gods masterpeece, and soHis Factor for our loves; do as you doe,Make your returne home gracious; and bestowThis life on that; so make one life of two.For so God helpe mee,'I would not misse you thereFor all the good which you can do me here.